Breakfast for Two
by iviscrit
Summary: All Tom wanted was a delicious breakfast of popovers and omelets on a lazy Saturday morning. But since a certain Minerva McGonagall of all people has agreed to cook for him, snark and shenanigans ensue. TMR/MM. Humor. Oneshot. R&ring is preferred, but certainly not required.


A/N: Guys, I seem to have been on a really depressing kick lately with my stories. It must end. So with that said….

* * *

Tom opened the door, his hair still damp from his shower and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He smiled. "You're early."

"You're late." Minerva swept into his apartment rather imperiously, bringing with her the scent of citrus and a bag of groceries. "I didn't know what you'd have, so I went ahead and brought a few things from my place." Riddle looked her over appreciatively, wondering if she had twisted her hair up differently than usual. It looked less severe than it usually did, with a soft black curl hanging loose that she repeatedly adjusted. She had forsaken her robes, instead wearing a snug green blouse tucked into black trousers, belted at the waist, allowing him to appreciate a figure that was the product of a lifetime of quidditch and a weight room. Her odd choice of attire made her look surprisingly at home in his flat; the green silk looked almost Slytherin in the midst of black upholstery, dark wood, and the occasional oddity from Borgin and Burke's. Her heels made small clacks on the floor as she crossed to the kitchen, depositing her supplies on the counter. "Have I really never cooked for you before?"

"You wouldn't be here if that wasn't the case, would you?" he said, cocking a brow.

"It's like the reunion at Slughorn's never even happened," she said petulantly, grasping the back of a chair as she pulled off her shoes. "Or the events that followed. Or as recently as last Friday-"

"I was teasing you," Tom said, rolling his eyes. "Calm down."

"And I was being sarcastic," she said, suddenly in front of him. She tilted her head back to get a good look at his face, her expression smug. He narrowed his eyes. "Not very perceptive, are you Tom?" She patted his cheek. "You'll learn in time."

"So what have you planned to poison me with?" he said casually. "Or am I allowed no information to help me prepare an antidote well in advance?"

"Something dastardly and complex, but nothing a beozar can't fix," she said. "I hope you have one on you."

"My death won't go unnoticed," he said, coming to stand behind her and sliding one arm around her waist. "I have powerful, influential friends who will have no trouble tracking down the charming Scot responsible for my demise." He slipped his other hand up the length of her arm, caressing her cheek as he spoke, suddenly stopping his long fingers at her neck.

"If I don't show up to the Ministry tomorrow afternoon for my presentation," she said lightly, casting a charm on a knife and setting it to mince sweet peppers, unfazed, "there will be an entire department in a state of panic, because I have never been late in my life, nor have I been absent without sending word that I won't be coming in." She turned suddenly, her wand arm raised in a dueling stance and aimed at his throat even as her left arm drew him close. "We seem to be at an impasse."

In a moment, Tom disarmed her. "Formerly at an impasse."

She sighed in obvious annoyance, crossing her arms. "You can't try these antics if I'm to make you breakfast."

He smirked. "But you make it so easy, Minerva."

She planted her palm on his chest, pushing him firmly against the wall. "I don't know why I put up with you." She retrieved her wand from his pocket, and set the knife to chopping again. "You know, I think you could be useful… why don't you help me?" She pulled him to the counter, setting a parcel of crimini mushrooms in front of him. "Slice them evenly, or when I brown them they won't cook properly."

"Already trying to pass the blame on your impending failures, I see." He squeezed his eyes shut with a smile when she soundly smacked the back of his head with the heel of her hand, bending his head over the mushrooms. He glanced at her when he'd finished, leaning his weight against the counter. Minerva's magic was extremely potent, something he'd known from their time together in Hogwarts, but he was pleasantly surprised to feel the richness of its aura. The air hummed with the energy from her enchantments as she manipulated both food and appliances to prepare their meal. She tossed the caramelized scallions and peppers over the bewitched fire of her making, burning deep green with an evenness even the most sophisticated stovetop could not achieve, all while her charmed knives neatly chopped cilantro and tomatoes, grated cheese, and sifted flour into the wet ingredients for popovers.

"Are the mushrooms ready for me?" she asked, turning to him and tipping her head back slightly. A lock of her hair fell across her forehead and flushed cheek. He noticed, not for the first time, how green her eyes were.

"Here," he said, getting a saucepan for her. "Olive oil?"

"Yes," she said, returning her attention to the stove. "Add a sprinkle of salt and pepper for me, while you're at it."

"Remind me why you're pursuing a career?" he asked, only half-joking.

"Excuse me?"

"You look so remarkably at home in the kitchen," he said. "I mean that as a compliment, don't get mad."

She laughed, emptying the peppers and browned scallions into a plate. "I enjoy cooking. Does that surprise you?"

"Only a bit," he said honestly. "Most professional women in my acquaintance are… woefully inadequate in these areas."

"Domestic areas?" Minerva prodded, whisking eggs with a dash of milk in a bowl.

"Cooking, baking- all the stereotypically feminine things that are now so out of vogue, what with the war," He gestured to her trousers. "Like those. Just a decade ago, it would be odd to be seeing you in pants."

"How many… opportunities have you had to assess the prowess of these 'women in your acquaintance' in certain areas, domestic or otherwise?" she asked lightly. The oil in the pan must have been hot; it sizzled when she poured the eggs in.

Tom smirked. "Does it really matter? How often do you cook for those in your acquaintance?"

"Often," she said nonchalantly, looking at him over her shoulder as she sprinkled the eggs with grated parmesan with agonizing slowness. She added the vegetables. "I'm quite accustomed to being gazed upon with worshipful reverence as I manage the kitchen with prowess akin to that of a potions master, to the high praise when my… acquaintances taste what I've prepared-" she paused, casting a charm on the pan of eggs, causing a bubble to form over it effectively trapping the heat to steam the eggs evenly. "-sometimes twice in one twenty-four-hour sitting." She peeked in one of his cabinets. "Where do you keep the muffin tins? I doubt you have a tray for popovers."

Tom wrinkled his nose at her earlier implication. "Top shelf."

She glanced up. "I can't reach that." She regarded him with amusement, her expression expectant.

"You're a witch, nothing is really beyond your reach."

"But you're tall, and you're right here, and I'm occupied," she said, tapping her foot. She smiled slowly. "Oh, don't be jealous, Tom. I was _teasing._ I rarely cook for my amours."

"I was not jealous," he said, bringing a chair for her to stand on and tapping it. "Vain, aren't you."

"Hypersensitive, aren't you," Minerva retorted, making a face at him and grabbing his shoulder as her socks slid on the wooden seat. "This is why I don't date younger men," she announced, tin in hand. "They're so very juvenile."

Tom swept her off the chair, holding her so that their noses brushed. "Am I juvenile, Minerva?"

"Very much so, but I like you all the same," she said sweetly, kissing his nose. "Now let me get the eggs." He deposited her by the stove, and in a moment she had the popovers in the oven and the eggs turned.

"So, is it because you're choosy, or are you just career-oriented?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Beg pardon?"

"Just trying to gauge how selective you are in your choice of companion," he said. "You know I dislike being seen as no different than the majority, I trust."

"You are exceptional," she said pleasantly, turning off the heat for the eggs. "You needn't worry, Tom. I don't get out much, to be honest… I'm a boring Ministry employee who spends her days at work and her nights at home cuddling with her cats. I don't usually get inebriated at parties, or intimate with old school friends. It was a long week, though the outcome turned out surprisingly nice...still, there's much to be said for time with one's cat."

"Aifric?"

"No, Dugald." Minerva pursed her lips. "Aifric is the Abyssinian, he's never up for cuddling. Dugald is the domestic longhair. But all that aside," she said as she pulled the golden-brown popovers from the oven, "whether I've had scores of men-" Tom winced- "or whether I've had none at all, I'm having breakfast for two with you and you alone."

"And you say my tongue is gilded," he observed, smiling as she set the tray on the stovetop.

"I never said it was a bad thing." She took his chin in her hand, tipping his face down to meet hers, and kissed him, her back at the counter and her hands behind his head. He pulled her to him roughly in response, the feel of her silk blouse as beguiling as her perfume and the touch of her lips. In a moment he had lifted her to the counter, their bodies flush and their breakfast slowly cooling as their encounter grew more heated. "Not now," she murmured, turning away and playing with his collar as he continued his attentions. "The popovers must be eaten hot."

Tom had already released her hair from its twist, and he tugged her head back sharply. "You started this… can you blame me for finishing it?"

"No, but-" The knock at the door distracted them both. "Shouldn't you answer that?"

He crossed to the door, mentally cursing in his most colorful language at the sudden visitor. "Antonin? It's Saturday morning. The meeting is not for another ten hours."

"Sorry, my Lord," the man said. "I was just dropping off the purchases from Knockturne Alley, like you-"

"Ah yes, that." Tom frowned, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. "Well, you can just… leave them on the coffee table I suppose.."

"Antonin Dolohov? Is that you?" Minerva called from her perch on the counter as the two men entered the sitting room. She made a pretty picture, Tom thought, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, legs crossed at the knee, eyes bright and lips newly-reddened. "I did not expect another Slug Club reunion so soon."

"Minerva McGonagall," Dolohov said, inclining his head slightly. "I never thought I'd see you barefoot in the kitchen… much less in the d- Tom's kitchen."

Minerva's eyes narrowed. "I could never hope to command her doings," Tom said smoothly, lazily wrapping an arm around her waist. "She was kind enough to make us breakfast-"

"Oh! Are those popovers?"

"-for two," Tom finished, frowning. "Ahem.." His expression darkened as Dolohov took one without invitation, devouring it in no more than three bites.

"These are phenomenal," he told Minerva.

She laughed, turning Tom's face to hers and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry, there's enough for three."

"Such admirable foresight," Tom said flatly.

"I don't have too much to do tonight," she mused, slipping down from the counter. "Dinner for two, perhaps?"

Tom's frown darkened even more at the thought of their being interrupted not by one, but by nine of his death eaters. No, dinner would not do at all. "Dolohov," he said coldly, knowing that his eyes flashed scarlet as he spoke. The air felt saturated with his magic, something he knew would not escape Dolohov's notice. He felt Minerva's grip on his arm tighten, and heard her inhale sharply.

"I'll leave you two to enjoy your morning," Dolohov said nervously. "At seven, my L- Tom?"

"Yes."

"I'll see myself out." They heard the door shut in seconds.

"Where were we?" he asked Minerva, pulling out a chair.

"Breakfast for two?" She looked a bit unsettled, so he pulled her to his lap, making her smile.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

**A/N: THERE WE GO. THERE ARE THE FUNNIES. I love writing these two, they are such a delight. Possessive!Tom is the best, especially when he's being possessive about his breakfast! **

**A couple of things: I hope Tom didn't come off as sexist with his "Remind me why you're pursuing a career?" bit. I think he meant it more in a "these sorts of things are slowly dying out, and someone as career-oriented as you likely would have bigger fish to fry." Also, I love the idea of Minerva in pants. The cool high waisted vintage kind, with like six buttons on the front like a panel. Y'all know what I'm talking about. Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed.. if you can't tell, I'm really craving some popovers right now. Reviews are almost as good, though. ;)**


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